


I Bring You Light

by Atisenia



Series: Chiaroscuros [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Magical Realism, The Shadow - Freeform, Tumblr: letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has to find his friend before they both fade away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Bring You Light

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was... painful.  
> Sequel to [The Shadow of Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/888875) that was written for Let's Write Sherlock's [Challenge 2](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/53511388655/challenge-1-is-still-open-until-june-30-but-were). Obviously, I didn't write this part in time.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, so you can always let me know if you see any mistakes.

Everywhere John goes, he follows the music. He’s yet to hear the familiar tune but he doesn’t stop. They’ve already found each other once because of that melody; so John follows the music because there’s nothing else to do. He has to find his friend before they both fade away.

 

***

 

“Could you at least _try_ acting like you knew what cleaning was?” John asked, irritated.

He just came back from a shift at the surgery and all he wanted to do was grab a beer and watch some telly. When he entered the flat though, he lost all hope that it could be possible.

There were papers everywhere on the living room floor. And not just papers. John spotted something that looked suspiciously like dried blood and there was dirt all over the sofa.

He wasn’t even gone _that_ long.

“What for?” Sherlock asked, confused. “You’ve always done that before.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You’re not just a shadow anymore, Sherlock,” he said. “You can at least—“

“Just a shadow?” Sherlock interrupted him and John saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes that quickly disappeared behind a cold mask. John’s stomach sank.

“I— I didn’t mean...” he said quietly and couldn’t look Sherlock in the eye. “It was just—“

“An expression?” Sherlock suggested and his tone could freeze the blood in John’s veins.

He stood up, took the violin and disappeared in his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. John called after him but the more insistent he got, the louder Sherlock played. So John tidied up the living room, made them both tea and entered Sherlock’s bedroom when the music became less erratic and more resigned.

Sherlock stood by the window, the early evening light transformed him into a creature of contrasts, his contours almost fluid in the possessive grip of the dark room. In moments like that, he did look like he belonged with the shadows and yet he was still there with John.

“You were never just a shadow, Sherlock,” John said, loud enough to be heard over the music. “You were always _my_ shadow. And my friend.”

Sherlock didn’t stop playing but he didn’t throw him out either, so John sat on the bed and sipped his tea, waiting for Sherlock to finish his melody.

 

***

 

John unfolds the paper in his hands and frowns. There’s an address written there in a hurried scribble and though he’s standing on the right street, it doesn’t make sense. The number he’s been pointed at doesn’t exist.

It’s hardly going to stop him though. He stands where the right location should be and observes. There’s an entry to the sewers in front of him and he decides it’s worth looking at.

He ignores the smell and lights a pocket torch. He sees a strange gleam a few steps away and when John comes near it, he freezes for one horrifying second.

There’s a violin leaning on the wall and its familiar form fills John with dread and hope. Sherlock would never willingly leave his violin behind, so it can only be a bad sign. But it’s also a lead, the first one in _weeks_ , so John ignores the uneasy feeling and takes the instrument in his shaking hands.

It’s not Sherlock’s.

He lets out a shaky breath and leans on the wall, giving himself a moment to feel bad. After a minute he’ll square his shoulders and he’ll go back to the surface with new determination. For now, he takes a moment to compose himself.

They haven’t faded yet.

And he won’t let that happen.

 

***

 

John was curious about Sherlock’s world right from the start but he’d always thought it was a delicate subject that Sherlock would bring up when he wanted to share. Yet after his ignorance had managed to hurt his friend, John decided he rather ought to know more.

“Do shadows have families?” he asked casually while they were watching telly on the sofa. Sherlock immediately tensed beside him. “I’m just curious,” John rushed to add. The last thing he wanted was to cause another disaster. “You know _my_ family.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said and for a long time, John thought that it was the only answer he’d get. But then Sherlock seemed to relax marginally and confessed, “I have a brother.”

“Oh.” Now that he knew, John didn’t really know what to do with that particular piece of information. “Is he—“ He stopped himself, not really sure how to finish the sentence. _Is he human_?

“He could be,” Sherlock answered anyway because he always seemed to know exactly what John thought. “But he prefers to act as a shadow. He practically _owns_ the British government and no one even suspects.”

“That’s scary.”

Sherlock smirked.

“He would be pleased you think so.”

After that, Sherlock seemed unwilling to talk about the subject so they sat in silence, occasionally focusing on what was happening on the TV screen.

“I’ve never known a person without a shadow,” John finally confessed. Sherlock looked at him.

“That’s because we don’t normally escape.”

“You say that as if it was like being in prison,” John said. Sherlock averted his gaze and didn’t answer. John’s hand somehow found its way to his friend’s shoulder without his conscious decision. “Sherlock?” he gently prompted.

Sherlock looked at John’s hand and sighed. He didn’t shake it off though.

“It’s not like that,” he finally said. “We just... Almost everyone, we don’t... don’t know what else there is to do, I suppose.”

“But you did,” John said and wondered if his permission to let Sherlock go actually mattered.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered. “Tea?”

“I’ll make it,” John said, already getting up.

“Of course.” Sherlock smirked and got himself hit with a pillow.

 

***

 

John storms out of the building and slams the door behind him, ignoring the silence restrictions with bitter satisfaction.

He spent _weeks_ searching for the right man and trying to come up with a way to actually talk with a shadow and for what? To hear that maybe fading back will teach Sherlock a lesson in subtlety? Well, screw Mycroft Holmes and his brotherly concern! John will continue looking, whether or not the British government decides to help.

And he _will_ find him.

 

****

 

“Are you the only one that...” Escaped? Broke free? Changed? “That’s human now?” 

Sherlock looked at him over the microscope on the kitchen table and just kept looking for a long while.

“No,” he said at last. “I am not.”

 

***

 

There’s a name people are afraid to say. When he finally makes them, they tell him about a creature creeping in the shadows, weaving invisible threads in the dark and patiently waiting to devour people foolish enough to step into them. They say he himself has the strangest shadow that looks nothing like him and appears to have free will. They tell him about the game these two play, a deadly hide and seek, with people’s lives at stake. They say the creature always wins and his shadow’s eyes are haunted.

The name is Moriarty.

 

***

 

There was a case of disappearing people that Sherlock nearly dismissed as dull.

“People disappear every day,” he said when John urged him to help. “How are you expecting me to follow every single one of them? Maybe they _don’t want to be found_?”

That silenced John for a while, until they discovered that the disappearances were connected. Suddenly, the case didn’t seem so dull anymore and John found himself running after Sherlock once again.

But Sherlock got progressively more frustrated.

“There’s just no trace of them!” he exclaimed, pacing back and forth through one of the missing people’s flat. “No signs of struggle, no logical exit. It’s as if they just...” His eyes widened. “Disappeared into thin air,” he said and looked at John with a flicker of something John never wanted to see on his face. Fear. “We have to go.”

“But—“

“Now!”

 

***

 

It turns out, tracking a shadow with a name is much easier than following unknown forces and John is quite good at tracking.

He’s standing in front of the mansion and looks up at the shapes moving behind the glass. He’s not sure why someone like Moriarty would make himself so exposed but he has a bad feeling about it.

He nods to himself, determined, and approaches the gate. He has a speech prepared for why he’s even here, but the guard merely looks down where his shadow should have been and lets him in.

When he comes closer, he can hear the violin and he knows that Sherlock is somewhere in the building. He just needs to find him now.

 

***

 

Sherlock kept pacing through their living room, muttering to himself. John made him tea but it sat ignored on the coffee table. John’s eyes followed his friend’s movements and he decided it was time to snap Sherlock out of his current agitated state.

“Sherlock?” he called. The detective stopped and looked at him, impatient. “What’s this all about?”

Sherlock huffed and resumed his pacing. John pursed his lips. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid.

“They’re turning into shadows, aren’t they?” John asked. Sherlock stopped and sent him a surprised look. John rolled his eyes. “You only ever react this way when there’s the shadow world involved. I can join the dots, you know. I’m not that stupid.”

Sherlock smirked but didn’t question if for once.

“I believe they are, yes,” he said.

“But—“ John thought about what he already knew. “How is that possible? People don’t just... _fade_. Do they?” He asked and looked at Sherlock for an answer. Sherlock pursed his lips.

“It’s not—“ he started but shook his head. Then he finally sat down. “I did some research when I... when you let me go,” he said.

“Of course you did,” John commented but that only got him an impatient look. “Sorry. Go on”

“It wasn’t easy but I found...” He paused and frowned. “You asked me once if there are more shadows in human form and I said yes but I didn’t really—“ He stopped himself again and let out a frustrated breath. It wasn’t like him to fumble with words. “John,” Sherlock said eventually, “there are two ways in which a shadow can break free. The first is what you did with— for me. The shadow’s master has to give his or her permission for the shadow to leave. The second one...” He paused again. John wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it. “The second one involves killing the master.”

No, he definitely didn’t want to hear that.

“Wha—? But how—?”

“There are ways.” Sherlock folded his hands under his chin. “And yet there’s always a dead body left behind. There are no bodies in this case. There’s _nothing_.

“So, just so I understand,” John began cautiously, “you’re saying that some shadows — quite a few it seems — found a way to swap places with their... um... masters? Isn’t that risky?” John knew _he_ would have done everything in his power to get back the life someone stole from him, more so if he’d seen it done before. “I mean, why swap if you can kill and get rid of the problem?” He winced at his own words but he knew they were true. Or at least logical. He ignored the question that started to form in his mind.

“Maybe they needed shadows to stop people from being suspicious,” Sherlock said and John nodded because that made sense.

“Okay,” he said. “Why now though? And why on such a scale? What? They simultaneously decided  it was time to take over the world?”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand but then froze and looked at John with new wonder.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes?” John echoed and frowned because that actually _didn’t_ make sense at all.

“Obviously the shadows didn’t decide anything like that on their own and certainly not individually,” Sherlock said and resumed his pacing. “That would be preposterous. They’re all idiotic.”

John rolled his eyes at that with a fond smile.

“So why did you agree with me then?”

Sherlock sighed, probably already disappointed with John’s ignorance.

“Someone’s making that decision for them,” he said and John could see how it fit. It fit all too well for his liking and that was probably why the question he was trying not to ask came unbidden out of his lips.

“Would you do it?”

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at him, bemused. John swallowed.

“If I didn’t let you go, would you...” He cleared his throat. “Would you have gone anyway?” he finished quietly.

Sherlock looked at him sharply and John felt suddenly nervous and not at all sure if he wanted to know the answer. Then Sherlock’s eyes became more gentle and he came to sit beside John on the sofa.

“I _despised_ being a shadow,” he said and John averted his gaze, defeated.

“I know. It was stupid. I—“

“I’ve never despised _you_ ,” Sherlock said.

John looked at him for any sign of insincerity and found none, so he surprised them both by pulling Sherlock into a tight hug.

 

***

 

The house is full of people who pay him no attention. A few look down at his lack of shadow and smile at him as if they shared a secret. They probably do, as neither of them has a shadow of their own.

He wanders around the house, always going towards the music. He finally finds a large room filled with sad violin music and gleeful sounds of talking and laughter. John steps into the shadows and looks around. When he sees Sherlock, his heart stops.

He’s indeed the one playing the violin but he does so mechanically, without the enthusiasm he usually shows. He looks much worse than when they last saw each other. His suit is hanging loosely on his bony figure. Sherlock’s cheekbones are sharp and pointy, and his skin nearly translucent. He looks small and insignificant, which John thinks is a crime. He’s so used to Sherlock taking all the space in the room that it makes him ache. Sherlock’s hair looks flat and heavy, somehow darker than he remembers it. But it’s his eyes that make John want to kill something. He heard stories about them being haunted. He prepared himself for signs of madness.

But he doesn’t see them now.

Sherlock’s eyes are empty.

 

***

 

John came back home from work to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair, the shadow obscuring the great part of his face. He didn’t move when John entered the flat but that was hardly unusual. What caught John’s eye was the bag resting on the floor next to the chair.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked. It would be slightly inconvenient if they did. He’d already owed people at work enough favours.

He would still go.

“I am,” Sherlock said in a strange, flat tone that John had never heard before.

“Okay,” he said cautiously and went to put the kettle on. “For how long?” he asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“I don’t think you understand,” Sherlock said in the same flat tone and came closer. His face was blank. “I won’t be coming back.”

“What?” John gaped at him. Only that morning Sherlock was still trying to solve the mystery of people turning into shadows. What had happened? “Is this about the case?”

Sherlock sent him one of those smiles that never reached beyond his lips. John felt suddenly cold.

“Did you really believe that I was your shadow?” Sherlock mocked him. “Do you really think it’s even possible?”

John blinked at him, torn between the urge to laugh and look for snipers.

“I _know_ it’s possible,” he said with conviction. “I know _you_.”

“Oh, but you don’t, do you?” Sherlock said and there was a flicker of something genuine in his eyes that he quickly blinked out into nonexistence. John knew something was terribly wrong.

“I know I don’t have a shadow,” he insisted. “I know you don’t have one. Other people notice that too.”

“It’s just a trick. An optical illusion that makes people believe what they want to believe.”

The kettle clicked off but John ignored it. He pursed his lips and pulled Sherlock out of any easy line of fire.

“Why are you saying this?” he asked. Sherlock’s expression didn’t change.

“Because you still don’t get it,” Sherlock said. “And I’m tired of this experiment.”

“Experiment? Sherlock, please, tell me what’s wrong,” John said, desperately trying to reason with this stubborn man. He knew him. How could Sherlock expect him to believe that he didn’t? “I’ll go with you. We’ll fix this, whatever this is, together.”

“I don’t need your help.” Sherlock glared at him. “I don’t _want_ it. I only stayed long enough to tell you this. Otherwise you might think I got _kidnapped_ and come looking for me and that would be extremely _tedious_.”

Kidnapped. That was it, wasn’t it? Someone was making Sherlock say all of this. Someone was taking him away from John and Sherlock was letting that someone do it.

John, on the other hand, wasn’t going to let that happen.

He grabbed Sherlock’s arm while he turned to leave and made him stop.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

But then Sherlock was moving quickly and before John could properly react, he emptied a syringe into John’s vein.

“What did you—“

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock said and grabbed the violin case.

“No,” John protested and tried to stop him but his legs were all wobbly and his head began to spin. “No, Sher—“ He reached out for his friend but collapsed into darkness instead.

When he came to, Sherlock was long gone.

 

***

 

John averts his gaze because he knows that if he continues staring at Sherlock’s broken form, he’ll do something stupid and reckless. He scans the room instead, looking for something he could use.

Everyone in this room has a shadow but him and one other man. John instantly knows it’s Moriarty and comes closer, still keeping to the shadows. He’s talking to a woman in a fancy dress. He’s all polite smiles and innocent looks. Then the music stops and Moriarty’s face transforms briefly into possessive rage. He turns to Sherlock and commands “next!”. Sherlock starts playing without a word, without as much as flinching and that makes John positively livid.

“What’s wrong with the musician?” the woman asks, completely oblivious to Moriarty’s transformation. “Is he ill?”

“No, darling, that’s my shadow,” Moriarty says. The woman’s eyes go wide and searching. “I thought you might have heard some stories.”

“No. No, I have not.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do with him, I really don’t,” Moriarty says and sighs heavily. “You see, he fancies himself human and that’s really inconvenient because people notice these things, you know.” The woman nods vehemently, clearly forgetting that _she_ didn’t see anything. “And now he threatens he’ll turn _me_ into _his_ shadow. I can’t let that happen. Who knows what he’d do then. He keeps escaping and makes good people suffer.”

“You should call the police,” the woman says, terrified, but Moriarty only shakes his head.

“And who would believe me? These things don’t happen. But maybe...” He trails off as if contemplating something. “Excuse me.”

The woman nods and Moriarty pushes Sherlock out of the room. John goes after them as soon as he’s sure no one looks at him. He’s glad he took his gun.

When John sees them, Sherlock stands leaning on the wall with the same blank expression on his face and Moriarty paces in front of him. John raises his gun, points and waits.

“It’s show time, Sherlock darling!” Moriarty says gleefully. “You know the rules. You hide and I find you. And I always find you, Sherlock,” he hisses and grabs Sherlock’s chin. “But if you just turn back for me, like a good little shadow,” he says, giving Sherlock some space, “no one has to—“

John pulls the trigger and Moriarty doesn’t have the chance to finish. There’s a sudden tense silence when his limp body falls to the floor and Sherlock looks at John without really seeing him. Then, finally, the blank look on Sherlock’s face is gone.

“John,” he whispers and his knees give out. He would have fallen but John holds him in place.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he says. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You came for me,” Sherlock says and there’s real wonder in his voice.

“Of course I did,” John says and helps Sherlock lean on the wall. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”

Sherlock snorts weakly and John nearly smiles.

“They must have heard the shot,” he says. “We have to get out of here. Quickly. Can you walk?”

Sherlock nods but looks resigned.

“Every person that works for Moriarty knows how I look,” he says. “They’re everywhere, shadows or not. We’ll never get past them.”

John looks down at his gun. He won’t be able to deal with all of them and he can already hear distant footsteps approaching them. He looks Sherlock in the eye.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and knows that Sherlock understands. In the end, he does know him better than anyone else.

“Yes,” Sherlock says. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

Later, when everyone in the house is either in hysterics or searching for the rebellious shadow, John walks freely through the corridors of the enormous mansion and no one even thinks about stopping him.

Only the guard at the gate looks questioningly at the long shadow at his feet — a shadow John haven’t had for years — but he doesn’t say a word.

 

 

“You can go now,” John tells his shadow when they’re far away from the house in a place John knows is safe.

He watches as Sherlock’s form slowly crawls on the wall and becomes more and more tangible. Finally, John can discern his features.

“You let me go,” Sherlock says, looking confused.

“You said you trusted me.”

“I knew you meant well at the moment,” Sherlock says and sits on the floor. John goes to sit beside him. “But I saw what having a shadow did to people who had not have it.”

“So why did you agree then?”

“Because...” Sherlock clears his throat. “Because being your shadow is still much better than being his.”

John smiles at him.

“So it’s possible then?” he asks. “Turning people into shadows. It’s possible?”

“Apparently,” Sherlock agrees. “Moriarty was the one who initiated the swapping of humans and shadows but it didn’t always work out the way he intended. He killed his master so he... he needed...”

“He needed you to be his shadow,” John says gently and remembers all the other people who had no shadows. It probably wasn’t just Moriarty who needed to fill the void.

“Yes,” Sherlock simply says and then he sighs, looking defeated. “He very nearly achieved it too.”

John looks at Sherlock’s exhausted form and grits his teeth.

“So why did you let him kidnap you in the first place?” he asks.

Sherlock looks at him and quickly averts his gaze.

“He threatened to take _you_ ,” he says quietly. “And I couldn’t let that happen. I thought... I thought you won’t look for me if I told you it was all a lie but it seems I underestimated you.”

“You’re really so stupid sometimes,” John says fondly and squeezes Sherlock’s arm. “Did you really think I could leave you like this?”

“I’m just your shadow,” Sherlock says. “It’s hardly enough to—“

“You’re my friend,” John interrupts him. “And I already promised you once that I’d protect you. I find repeating myself rather tedious,” he adds and Sherlock sends him a smile. “Look, you’re so much more to me than just a shadow. Okay? And I will never let anyone reduce you to something you hate if I can help it.” He makes a move to stand up but Sherlock grabs his arm and briefly presses his lips to John’s. It’s quick and unexpected and Sherlock looks really uncertain after that.

“Not good?” he asks and John smiles.

“Can be better,” he says and kisses Sherlock back. “Let’s go home,” he says.

And they do.


End file.
